The Search for Rebecca Barnes
by KHB123
Summary: The Winter Soldier is in hiding, slowly recollecting his memories and struggling with his sanity, weeks after the battle with Captain America. At the Smithsonian, he meets a little girl whose kindness allows him to find pieces of his humanity. Through her, he also discovers a connection to someone from his past. Someone, besides Steve, who was the closest to him. His little sister.
1. Chapter 1

**The Winter Soldier in the Smithsonian**

**This starts out when the Winter Soldier visits the Smithsonian ****museum**** to try to recover his memories, a few weeks after he left Steve Rogers injured on the shore during the events of Captain America 2. I actually picked this up off another ****head canon**** that I found really inspiring and just felt like there should be more added to the story, such as what happened to Bucky Barnes while Captain America was still searching for him, before Avenger 2. I have written a four part story about this and I hope you enjoy it. I also decided to mix it with some facts from the comic books that they should have hinted in the movie.**

The Winter Soldier has remained undetected for weeks, now wearing a hat and worn clothes, the beard growth covering his face as he kept his head down, his dark hair strands and cap kept over his ice-blue eyes. Finally escaping the crowd, he stepped up to the exhibit he had been looking for, the one the man called Captain America had called him when he first saw his face..._I knew him. _

_James Buchanan Barnes. 1917-1944. That face...it _is_ me. Rogers was telling the truth...he was my friend. My friend! Oh God, what have I done? _He continued staring at the face of Barnes, the person whom Rogers was best friends with his whole life...Steve Rogers, whom he had ruthlessly tried to murder...

"You should tie your hair back," a little voice piped up. He looks down and sees a fair-haired little girl with colorful pigtails looking up at the Winter Soldier. He stares down at her, silent, but she continues undeterred. "Mommy says that we need to have our hair tied back or we'll trip over things because we can't see. She makes me wear these—" She displays her wrist, which is encircled by a rainbow of different hair bands. "—because mine keeps falling out. You can't fight evil if you can't see it. I want to be a police officer when I grow up. Are you a…"

She trails off, her eyes steadily getting bigger. They dart to the large digital image of James Buchanan Barnes, then back to his face. The Winter Soldier's eyes dart, too, over the exits and the crowd and the girl's distracted mother—a dark-haired young woman, who looked around his age (in appearance), who was in deep conversation with another couple—before landing back on the girl's face, where an improbable grin had begun to grow.

"I knew it," she whispers.

The Winter Soldier blinks down at her, thrown off by the delight in her expression. No one is ever happy to see the Soldier. Not after everything he has done...what Pierce made him do...what he never questioned, until a few weeks ago...

The girl reins in her wide grin and does her own scan of the crowd. "Don't worry, I won't tell. People can't handle the truth. But I can." She turns her shining eyes back to the Soldier. "Do you want a hair tie? I think blue is more your color, like your eyes. And you do have nice eyes."

At first, he didn't know what to do. Her kindness was strange, alien...but in a good way. He didn't want it to go away; he didn't want to frighten her off. Slowly, very slowly, the Soldier reaches out with his real hand, one of the hands that have broken, maimed, strangled, shot, stabbed, and ripped apart human flesh. Without taking her eyes off him, the girl rolls a bright navy blue one out of the rainbow and hands it over.

His voice creaks out of him, rusty with disuse. "Thank you."

When the tie lands in his palm like a light feather, she then holds out her tiny hand with confidence. "I'm Maisie. Maisie Proctor. I'm six. What's your name?"

_So small, so innocent,_ thoughts echoed in his head, while he was staring down at her tiny extended hand, and thought with a cold chill how easily it could be crushed in his metal grip.

"It's okay," said Maisie, encouragingly. "I know who you are, but if you don't use your real name, we can make something up."

The Soldier remembered what Rogers kept calling him, the memory burned in his mind like a headache, like something that would be "prepped" painfully from his mind between missions. The name seemed stupid to him, but despite his constant denials, it somehow felt right. After a long hesitation, he slowly and very gently took her hand, which was small and soft in his large, rough-callused one. "My name is Bucky," he said softly. _Not a name that you shiver in fear_, he realized. _Not the Winter Soldier, but someone a child would appreciate. Someone I used to be._

It was so strange. Everything he touched either died, broke, or bled; he had felt nothing but the cold within that remained frozen like ice, killed without a second thought, moved on without looking back (or at least tried to, in certain times of mental crisis)...but this was the first time since he had saved Steve Rogers from drowning that he had touched another human being without causing any fatal damage; a tiny little girl who felt no fear towards him. Everything that had made him who and what he was, the ice that had kept him solid and empty for so long, started to melt from the warmth of her smile and touch.

"Everybody's been talking about you," said Maisie with wide eyes. "They say you blew up a lot of places and attacked a lot of people and I was scared at first, but you saved Captain America when those big ships came down! Mommy and my friends still say you're a terrorist, but I think you're a hero, saving Captain America and all! Yeah, I know-" Seeing the surprised look on his face. "-it's was in the news: Captain America was found on shore when people thought he drowned. He was really badly hurt, but he's fine now. It was obvious. You two were the only ones there, so who else could have saved him? People don't believe me 'cause I'm weird, but I'm right, aren't I? The museum says you're Captain America's best friend, but you're supposed to be dead, and now here you are. How come you're not, like, old or something?" Then, for the first time, she looked a little worried. "Are you still hurting people?"

_You mean am I still _killing _people? _He said nothing, as he thought of the drunken construction worker he murdered only a week ago and was now wearing his clothes to hide himself. It had been a quick death, an act of survival he learned as a Soviet assassin, but he couldn't tell her that. He didn't like his kills, nor did he dislike them...he had learned to not feel anything when he killed, to not think about it once it was done. But ever since he had been about to end Rogers on the ship, when Steve told him those strongly familiar words "I'm with you until the end of the line," the Soldier had started to feel emotions that he had been trying so hard to deny: confusion, distress, horror, shame...everything had fallen apart. He _couldn't _kill Steve Rogers. He was the only link to his past, and he had felt a moment of familiar connection to the Captain, a moment that he craved to look deeper into, no matter how deeply frightening it felt. He needed to know the truth, no matter how badly it was going to turn out, but he was certainly not going back to Hydra to be used, tortured, and "wiped clean" over and over until he reached the breaking point of truly feeling like a cold, empty machine again. There had been a time when he didn't care anymore about what happened to him, or what they used him for, just as long the living hell they had over him eventually ended...but with little Maisie looking at him with innocent curiosity, the last thing he ever wanted to do now was to frighten her into thinking she was talking to the cold-hearted, killer machine he was.

"I don't want to hurt you," he finally answered.

"I know you don't. But what about other people?"

He glanced around to watch some people pass by. "They give me no reason to. They pose no occupational hazard on my life, or the attempt of crisis in the natural order."

"Occu-what?"

He had forgotten he was speaking to six year-old, and that he was basically repeating similar words that Pierce had used to manipulate the system. He was suddenly sickened by what he said and closed his eyes. "Forget it. Don't listen to me." He looked down at Maisie for a long minute, and whispered, "Why are you doing this?"

"Huh? I don't know what you mean." Maisie was confused.

His normally expressionless face was breaking again, his eyes wet and full of despair and confusion. Flashes of clouded memory threatened to surface, but had once-again failed like a burnt out cloud. "You shouldn't be near me. After everything I've done, you should be afraid of me. I have done things...things I can't even tell you about. They call me a ghost from the past, a shadow in the brink of war and destruction..." _A killer of the innocent, like you. _"_He _called my work a _gift_ to mankind. Before he would shock me, 'prep' me for a mission, he would tell me I was 'shaping the century,' but I am the monster that your American hero should have killed, whom I was going to kill. A monster, Maisie..." They may have erased the memories of who he was before, but what Hydra never erased was the memories of the people he killed. Innocent people. It was only by looking at Maisie that he felt the shame overwhelm him again. "The picture in front of us, the man who was James Buchanan Barnes, is dead. I try to remember who I am, have always tried, but they burned it out of me...and even when I get flashes, I feel as if I'm falling apart. They had me try to kill a man I once knew, and anyone else who got in the way...I couldn't even remember my own name...why aren't you afraid of me?" he finished in a shaky whisper. He looked away, but somehow he couldn't walk away. He realized with guilt that every word he just said to Maisie was what he had wanted to tell Steve Rogers, but couldn't. The whole world was trapping him in one place, enclosing around him like the walls of his cryonic tube when in hibernation; cold, desolate, lonely, empty. He felt trapped, bathed in the blood of his victims, with barely any memory of who he was, surrounded by enemies from both SHIELD and HYDRA, and it seemed that the only friend he had in this world was a failed mission to kill and the only one he was truly hiding from because he wasn't sure that he could face him without starting another fight. It was only now that everything started to hit him; he felt that he would break down, here, in front of a picture of himself from 1944 and a little six year-old girl who had been nothing but friendly to him.

He expected her to run back to her mother in fear, but the little girl stepped forward and pointed at his left side. "Can I see your metal arm?"

Again, the Winter Soldier blinked in surprise, the flood of emotion still shown on his face. Very slowly, careful not to make a mechanical sound, he lifted his left hand-his robotic hand-from the deep pocket of his jacket and showed it to her while hiding it from everyone else.

Her eyes widened in awe. "Can I touch it?"

He watched uneasily as she came closer and reached for the metal hand. The sensors activated to her touch, and very, very gently, his metal fingers closed around her tiny, delicate hands. He was certain that it would be the last straw for him, that he wouldn't be able to forgive himself, if he so much as caused any damage to those hands.

As both of her hands gripped the steel of his robotic arm, her body shaking with excitement from either fear or thrill, she looked up at him, wide blue eyes twinkling as though there was wisdom in their innocence. "I don't think you're a monster, Bucky," she said softly. "I don't even think you're a bad guy. I just think you need a friend. A real friend."

"_I'm not gonna fight you," Steve had said, dropping his shield and surrendering himself to the Winter Soldier like an open target. "You're my friend." _

_"__You're my mission," growled the Winter Soldier, beating Steve over and over. Confusion and doubt threatened him, but he fought to ignore it. "YOU'RE. MY. MISSION." He raised his metal arm for the killing blow, but he hesitated._

_"__Then finish it," mumbled a brutally beaten Rogers, half-conscious and completely in defeat. As the Soldier began to feel doubt, it was then Steve looked up at him with sad affection and said softly, "'Cause I'm with you till the end of the line."_

He had known those words. They sounded like his words. In that instant, for the first time, the Soldier was certain he knew Steve Rogers, believed that he was telling the truth...but he just froze, lowering his fist, staring down at the "friend" he had savagely damaged in complete confusion, self-horror, and realization that what he was doing felt very wrong, completely going against everything he would ever do to Steve.* That he would do to his closest friend, whom he didn't remember ever having, but he _believed_ him. It was then he felt shame and terrified for the victim's life, but he had managed to save Rogers from the water, take one last look at him to make sure he was alive, and then walked away, forcing himself not to look back. He had been in hiding ever since.

"I think it's too late for that, kid," the Soldier said softly.

"No, it's never too late," Maisie insisted. "Captain America is your friend. I think you should go back to him. He'll help you. He helps everyone."

The Winter Soldier felt a small, humorless chuckle escape-he couldn't remember having ever cracked a smile in his life with Hydra-but it died quickly when he stared at the picture again of him and Steve laughing together, like everything important in the world was found within each other. "Help me? I don't think anyone can help me. I don't think I can even face him. I didn't leave him in the best shape.''

"He'll forgive you," insisted Maisie. She held on to his robotic hand and pointed at the video of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. "He wants to find you, I know he does! Captain America never gives up on friends. And now that you remember him, neither should you."*

_And apparently there was no better way to prove it than risking me killing him, _he thought bitterly. "I don't remember everything about him yet, kid..." He then looked down to her and continued, "but when the time comes, I will come to him when he least expects it. We'll see how it ends."

"But you'll try, won't you, Bucky? You'll be good for now on?"

"I'm not the good guy, Maisie, and I don't know if I'll ever be," he said sadly, "but I intend to do everything in my power to right my mistakes. I am done working with those who control me. I control myself now...and I will choose who my enemies are and where I stand when this is all over." _When I take down all of those who had tortured, brainwashed, and controlled me after all these years, perhaps then I will end myself. _But he didn't tell her that. Instead, he said, "I will do my best to reconcile with this Steve Rogers, your Captain America."

"You promise?"

The glow of hope on her face and her touch on his metal arm gave him a surge of warmth that made him hopeful, doubtful, and guilty at once. Still, whether he was man or machine, he did not want to disappoint her. He felt his lips twitch to the side-another strange impulse that seemed alien to him-though his attempt to smile felt more like a grimace. "I promise."

Maisie smiled back, hers definitely much brighter than his. "I know you can do it. You want it; you just don't know it yet."

The Winter Soldier then looked over at the woman who could be Maisie's mother, who was still chatting with other parents. Realizing his metal hand was still holding hers, he hastily let go and took a step back, hoping to remain discreet despite her standing next to him.

The little girl followed his gaze. "Oh, don't worry. Once Mommy starts talking with other grown-ups, she doesn't even notice that I'm gone." Maisie almost looked sad. "She works at the front desk for Health Insurance. She doesn't like it when I talk to strangers, but she ignores me anyway."

"I find that hard to believe," said the Soldier. "I don't have much experience with families, nor do I associate with them-" _Except when I assassinate them. _"-but I would never have any reason to ignore you. I would never have trouble letting you out of my sight. One of my areas of expertise."

Maisie giggled. "Yeah, I bet. You being a soldier and all. I think that's why I like you, 'cause we're both weird in our own way. I have a rainbow arm and you have a metal arm, but we both want to do good things. I guess if I want to be a police officer, I have get rid of all my hair ties, huh?"

The Soldier shook his head, lips twitching again. "No...please don't. It's a part of who you are, and...you will grow up someday, have to face the world as it is, but I hope you never have to change who you are, Maisie. Most people I run into usually...well, let's just say the conversation never ends well, especially for them."

"Do you kill 'em?" gasped Maisie.

The Soldier was silent and just gave her a look. She slumped and dropped her gaze. "Oh, okay. Sorry."

Then after a moment's thought, he sighed and then knelt down until his gaze was leveled at her height. He knew some people were watching and had the impulsive urge to rip their eyes out, but he ignored them and looked the little girl in the eye. "Maisie, it's not that it doesn't upset me that I'm already aware of the things I did, but the life I've lead...for years, I trained, fought, and killed in a world of merciless killers and sociopaths, all who have done destructive things that you can never imagine. Not only that I can't tell you about the organization I worked for, but now that I have left them, I would never forgive myself if you left this museum with even the slightest evidence that you have met me discovered by them. That would put you and your family in danger."

"Okay," she nodded sadly. Then she said with wide eyes, "Can we still be friends, Bucky?"

_Friends. _Her face was so hopeful that he had to look away for a moment, feeling a flood of emotions rise in his throat, but he swallowed it down and met her gaze with forced calm. "I wouldn't be a good friend to you, Maisie. I...once you leave this area, this will have to be the last time you ever have to see me."

"What? Why?" Her eyes became teary.

"If you know me as well as you think, then you would know why you can't ever be around me," he whispered. Then he gently took both her hands in both of his, careful to keep his metal hand hidden. "For as long as I can remember, I have never met anyone as young, bright, and funny as you are, and I have never felt more honored to have met you next to my exhibit...as a human being, not a machine. You have even brought out the longest conversation I ever had with anyone for many years." His tone wavered a bit, but he steadied it. "But you're way too young, and I can't get you involved in my problems. You deserve so much more."

"But I really like you, Bucky, I really do," Maisie croaked. "I don't want to not see you ever again. I really want you to be my friend."

When someone wants to be friends, do you just accept and leave? The Winter Soldier never had friends; only enemies, assets, doctors, and missions. "Then we already are," he finally told her.

"And I want you to know that you're good and I'll never forget about you." A tear ran down her cheek as she sniffled. "I believe in you."*

The Winter Soldier, intrigued by her tear, reached up and gently wiped it away. He had shed tears before; a few times, when they had put his head between two chargers and electrocuted him, when they wiped out his memory over and over. It was more of terror than pain, one of the few things that he dreaded the most, when Hydra was not only messing with his body, but worst of all, his mind. He still had terrible nightmares of those nights in the Hydra lab. But seeing Maisie cry made him think of them putting _her _into that chair, putting her little head between those prods...the thought terrified him so greatly that he definitely would have taken her place a hundred times over if it meant to keep her away from such agonizing torture.

"I know you won't," he said softly. "And I won't ever forget you either, Maisie Proctor." He held up the blue hair tie she gave him. "Thanks for the hair tie."

Wiping her nose, she then smiled. "Thanks for letting me see your robot arm." Then she leaned in and added in a whisper, "I still won't tell anyone I saw you."

The Winter Soldier-Bucky-then smiled a real smile, and this time, it felt very familiar to him, like the video of James Barnes laughing with Steve Rogers.

"Maisie? What are you doing?" The little girl turned around when her mom noticed, hurrying over to the Barnes exhibit. "Honey, who were you talking to?"

"I-" Maisie turned and to her shock, Bucky had vanished, like he had never been there. She hadn't even felt or heard him leave. He was really that good. She felt like crying, but that would take some explaining to her mom, so she swallowed it down and faced her. "Just some man. He was telling me about the man in the picture, Bucky Barnes. He was Captain America's best friend. He died in battle," she added quickly, but her mother was fishing out her phone.

"That's nice, sweetie," she said, while texting, before putting it away and taking Maisie's hand, "but we have to go now. Your great-Granny's not feeling too well, so we need to go pay her a visit. Your Aunt Kimberly is with her."

Maisie's eyes widened. "Is Granny okay?"

"She was wandering around thinking that she was a teenager and World War II was still happening. The usual." She looked at the exhibit. "So you liked this one, huh?"

"Yep." Maisie nodded. "I think he's a hero." Her mom had no idea who this hero turned out to be.

Mrs. Proctor smiled. "You know what, baby...me too. And someday, your granny and I will tell you why."

"Oh, I already know," said Maisie. "He was the only commando who died 'cause he saved Captain America's life on a train."

"Yes, I know, but that's not what I meant," her mom shook her head. "Look, we need to leave-"

"Wait, Mommy, what do you mean?" Maisie pulled out of her mother's grasp and stood closer to the exhibit. "I want you to tell me now. Please?"

"Well...I was going to wait for Granny to tell you, because it's not really me who should tell you, but..." Mrs. Proctor sighed, and then knelt down next to her daughter. "Alright. You know that your Granny Becca had a big brother. She told you that, after your daddy left?"

Maisie was confused. "Yeah, she said that he died in the war. She was in a boarding school, I think, and he joined the army. She was fourteen and she never saw him again. It was so sad. She said she had a few pictures, but she never showed me 'cause she got sick."

Maisie had barely turned three when her father, Scott Proctor, had left, right after her grandparents both died in a bus accident. Her great-grandfather, Granny Becca's husband, died in his sleep years before she was born, but Maisie remembered that when she was healthier, she and Maisie would visit the Smithsonian, mainly to see the exhibit Captain America and his Howling Commandos, because Granny Becca had only been a kid when the war was happening. She remembered that every time they passed by James Buchanan Barnes exhibit, her great-granny would start crying and three year-old Maisie would ask why she was so sad. "Because he was the only one who died on Captain America's missions," her granny said. "They were like brothers, James and Steve. That sort of loyalty is hard to find these days, sweetie."

Since then, Maisie always kept in mind to remain positive and try to see the best in people, even if they seemed bad. She hoped to prove to Granny Becca that the same spark of loyalty can be found in people, all in different colors-hence, the rainbow of hair ties she wore on her arm.

"Did she ever tell you what her brother's name was?" her mom asked. Maisie shook her head. "Well, this is him."

"_What?" _The little girl's jaw dropped, staring at her mother the same way she did when recognizing the Winter Soldier. She pointed at the picture. _"Him? He's _Granny Becca's brother?" Did that mean she just met her great-great uncle, Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier? "You knew, and you didn't tell me?"

"Rebecca was in one of her delusions, and she thought that I was a random woman who flirted with her brother, Jimmy, back in the late '30's. When she woke up, I had to ask and she told me everything, starting with Barnes being her maiden name. She also wanted me to keep it quiet so that she can tell you about him herself, when you were older. I'm sorry, baby."

"Does that mean Granny knows Captain America?"

"Yes, but like her brother, she hasn't seen Steve Rogers since she was leaving to a Girls Academy," her mother explained, "which was, like, seventy years ago."

"But Captain America was just in the city, fighting the bad guys! Why didn't she-"

"Maisie, honey, you have to remember that your great-grandmother is old, and she's suffering from Alzheimer's right now. Besides, I'm sure if Captain Rogers knew, and wanted to see Rebecca, he would have done so already. I couldn't imagine having to see my friends suddenly much older than me, after waking up from decades of sleep, right?"

Maisie knew her mother was right. "That's so sad." But it was better than not remembering them, like Bucky. She still couldn't believe she was related to him. She almost wanted to tell her mother that she just met him, met Granny's long-lost older brother who still looked young, strong, and apparently brainwashed, but she remembered her promise to the Winter Soldier and kept it silent. She even wondered if he was still around, hiding and listening; it was hard to tell, but she could imagine the shock he must be feeling.

"It is." Her mother stood up. "But if it really means that much to you, if Captain America isn't too busy saving the world, we can give him a call. It would be tough, but I know a few people who know other people, and they can get in touch with him."

"Really?" squeaked Maisie, a grin spreading. She went over and hugged her mother. "You're the best mom in whole wide world!"

"You'd better believe it," her mom said, smiling and hugging her daughter back.

When they started to leave, Maisie was holding her mother's hand, but looked around the crowd for the Winter Soldier. Finally she spotted him stepping out from a crowd of people; a tall, silent figure with his hair and cap half covering his face, both hands tucked deeply into his pockets. He was staring after her, his blue eyes wide and expression full of astonishment. They were also full of sadness and longing, which is exactly how anyone should feel when discovering they have a family that they can never be a part of.

_He was listening._ She smiled and, while her mom wasn't looking, waved at him. "_Bye,"_ she mouthed, as the crowd dispersed.

_Good-bye. _The Winter Soldier watched sadly as the little girl-and it turned out, his beautiful great grandniece-walked out the exit of the museum.

_I have a sister. _Granny Becca. The mother called her Rebecca. _Rebecca Barnes Proctor._ _My little sister._ Another link to his past. Here, of all places. He wondered if Rogers knew she was somewhere in the state, in her eighties and suffering from memory loss. _Like I did_, he thought, and the emotion came back, but this time it was layered with guilt and the new sense of loss. The name was familiar to him, and now that he tried to think back on the times Hydra erased his memory, he might have had flashes of her very briefly-a pretty, dark-haired teenage girl hugging him goodbye with a suitcase and a train waiting for her..._1941, both parents died recently_..._and did I go join the war, with Steve Rogers? No...he was smaller...he couldn't...he wanted to...there was an experiment...a rescue..._Bit by bit, the flashes of memory and thought made sense. The more he started to remember, he more awful he felt. The Winter Soldier knew he had much to make up for, to remember and pay for his sins, but there were three important things he knew that would be his top list of priorities: destroying all connections and members of Hydra, confronting Steve Rogers (hopefully, in peaceful terms and to stir some more memories) to seek reconciliation, and reuniting with his sister, Rebecca Barnes Proctor, and Maisie Proctor, his grandniece.

Taking one last look at the digital image of James Buchanan Barnes, feeling already that he was parting with two sides of himself, the old one and the present one, he parted the floor and marched towards the exit, his metal arm flexing mechanically from his pockets. Perhaps he will always be the Winter Soldier, but he was also James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, and he was not dead yet. He will see Steve Rogers again, but not yet. There were still things he had to do alone. It would not change what he did or who he was, but it will satisfy him to know that his old masters and torturers will suffer in his wrath. The cold expression in his eyes hardened and the blue hair tie slipped over his wrist. _You can't fight evil if you can't see it, _her little voice echoed, sounding much wiser than Alexander Pierce had ever been. He not only made a promise to a faithful little girl to seek redemption, he made a promise to himself. Starting now.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Search for Rebecca Barnes**

**Here's the second part of the story.**

**Its been two months since the Winter Soldier disappeared and one month since he found out his identity in the Smithsonian. ****He also discovered he had a family from his younger sister. While he's not hunting down Hydra agents, and saving his reunion with Steve Rogers for last, he is tracking down his sister, Rebecca Barnes Proctor.**

The Winter Soldier crept in the darkness of the night and easily leapt over the gate that surrounded the apartment building. He had tracked down this address under the name of Proctor, and after three dozen searches on the library's computer, he found his sister. A home for the retired senior citizens.

First, earlier this afternoon, he had made a call on a pay phone, using a wallet pick-pocketed earlier. A lady at the front desk answered.

The Soldier had prepared for this, but that didn't mean he didn't feel nervous. Stalking before the assassinating was one thing, like second nature to his profession, but getting in touch with a loved one-especially when he hadn't had any loved ones as the Winter Soldier, not even close-felt like he stepping straight into the abyss. Especially when speaking through a telephone, to another person as if he were an everyday citizen. He will _never_ be an everyday citizen.

"I would like to speak to one of the residents of the home," he finally spoke, trying to keep his tone formal, though it still sounded scratchy with disuse. "Her name is Rebecca Proctor."

"Do you have any kind of relationship with Mrs. Proctor?"

_My now-elderly kid sister, whom I'm just remembering. _"She's a friend of mine."

"Mrs. Proctor is currently spending the week with her family, but would you care to set up your name for an appointment?"

This was a mistake. There had been a reason he never did stuff like this; it was unprofessional, but neither was it a job he had to get done. This was personal. Either way, he knew the lady wouldn't give him the address of where his sister lived, out of protocol. "No, that won't be necessary. Thank you." He hung up and banged his head in frustration against the telephone machine. His metal arm twitched mechanically under his sleeve and glove as he felt the very strong urge to punch the wires out of this telephone.

"Excuse me, sir, but there's a line," a lady behind him said.

Without a word, he moved away quickly and kept his head down as he walked down the sidewalk. He knew what he had to do, but the task was easier at nighttime. Breaking into an old folks home undetected was certainly easier than any phone call would give him.

He was there later that night, and already he was inside, striding through the hallways, avoiding security like a shadow. His knives and guns were tucked his belt, out of habit like his urge to kill, but he vowed to himself that nobody was going to die tonight. For Rebecca's sake, and for Maisie's. He still had her navy-blue hair tie, which he used to tie his hair back in a loose knot sometimes during the day, but always with his cap on so nobody would recognize him. At least he shaved. Using a sensor he stole from a former-Hydra agent he tracked down last week, he used it to send the security cameras in haywire while walking down the empty hallway, passing rooms that were occupied with sleeping elders. Some were still up, but were too distracted by deafness or illness to notice a dark figure striding down the hallway.

The Soldier was just turning around the corner when he found an elderly man, probably in his mid eighties-younger than the Winter Soldier-standing in front of the office door to the files while leaning on a breathing apparatus. He looked up and spotted the Soldier. "Hey, you!" he croaked in a grumbling tone.

The Winter Soldier froze. His mind was racing. _Stupid, stupid, stupid..._He should have sensed the man around the corner, heard his breathing apparatus, but he had let his guard down, thinking he was striding in the home care without complications or security. He wasn't even wearing his mask or black eye shadow. _Stupid!_

The old man squinted at him through the dark shadows. "You don't look like security. You breakin' in, fellah?" He had a Jersey accent, in the middle of Washington D.C.

He could run. But the old man saw him. A witness. He could snap his neck and...No! No more killing innocents. He made a promise. Still, he kept seeing Maisie's glowing face in his mind and suddenly wanted more than anything to see her again. But this old man was in the way. In the way of ever seeing his long-lost family. Just for once. He briefly remembered when Pierce shot his housekeeper _because _she saw the Winter Soldier in the shadows of his house. The old man didn't seem that scared, so he probably didn't see the Winter Soldier's robotic arm in the dark yet. The elder was definitely nearsighted, but apparently not that nearsighted.

The old man squinted further and then raised his fading brow. "Hey, I know you..."

The Winter Soldier kept silent. He considered making a death threat. If the old man had a heart attack, the death would technically be a natural death, untraceable. If not...he started to reach for the knife at his hip.

"It's Scott Proctor, ain't it?"

His hand froze. _What?_

"Yeah, Scottie! Becky's grandson. I knew you looked familiar from her pictures, but damn! You really changed! She told me about your addiction. What's it now, heroine? Marihuana? Never mind-what the hell are you doin', breakin' and enterin' into an old folk's home? You hidin' a stash somewhere, son, or are you finally startin' to hear about your grandmother's condition?"

Scott Proctor had to be Maisie's father, the one who left, like her mother had mentioned. His grandnephew. The old man thought he was Rebecca's grandson. Did he really look like him? And worse yet, Maisie's father was a drug addict?

"What, you got nothin' to say?" He pointed at the Soldier. "I ought to report you to the cops, but I'm not going to do that. Becky's lost her husband _and_ her two sons, so there's no reason to tell her I had to put her only grandson in jail. And what about Maisie, eh? That little girl is sweetness itself and she sure as hell doesn't deserve an abandonin' sucker-for-a-father like you! You ought to be thinking of her, not your junk!"

The Winter Soldier was sure he should be insulted, even though he wasn't Scott Proctor and that he equally felt ashamed when hearing about his grandnephew. But he had done far worse without having to store away a single drug and deserved far worse treatment than the lectures of an old man. It was like this darkness ran in the family, he thought bitterly, but he hoped not. So far, Scott seemed to be the only problem, leaving his little daughter for probably getting high somewhere. It was messed up, that a drug addict would leave his child, while a ninety-six year old assassin wished he didn't have to leave her.

Still, he decided to play along. "I think about her all the time," the Soldier said quietly. It was the truth. And he hoped for Maisie's sake it was true for Scott. He slowly stepped forward, raising his good hand and keeping his metal one down. "I'm not here to cause any trouble; I'm just looking for the home address of my family."

"What's the matter, son? Trouble making a phone call?"

Even saying it out loud sounded humiliating. "I lost touch."

"Couldn't make an appointment here? Family members are always allowed."

"I didn't want anyone to see me the way I am. I'm here for my grandmother, but...I also want to see my daughter. If I came here first, I'm sure my ex-wife would hear about it and wouldn't let me near her, which is why I need to get the address here. That's all. Please." _Please, don't give me a reason to silence you._

"Hmph." The old man glanced at the door to the file room and then back at the figure in the shadows, frowning suspiciously. Then he sighed. "Look, there's no need to give the cops an excuse to arrest you. I'll just give you her family's address, but she's a friend of mine, so don't make me regret this!"

"You won't, believe me."

So the old man told him. The Winter Soldier memorized it right away, his chest filling with hope as those blessed words entered his mind. He was going to see his sister, but he also felt uncertainty, since he was one step closer into uncovering another link to his past, and the results now were unpredictable.

"You need me to repeat that?"

"No, I got it. I can't thank you enough!"

"Heh, that's funny, because you look happier, but still seem pretty darn burdened, and I'm certain its not the drugs!"

The Winter Soldier looked on in a daze. "I don't know," he said softly. "Ever since I broke from-from my _phase_-I have been questioning myself a lot. I barely even know who I am, and I find that...my family lives here...that I've missed so much...and I can't be part of it. Not really."

"Oh, boy, here we go," sighed the old man. "Son, I know a thing or two about men who've made terrible decisions. Hell, most of them I know of had come back from the Cold War and were never the same again; the few comforts they sought were therapy, drink, and drugs-it was a Woodstock back then."

_I know, _thought the Soldier, _I was there. I also assassinated thirty-five people, twenty of which were politicians, and helped blow up an entire building. I was the turning point of the Cold War._These thoughts instantly washed with the guilt and the self-horror he would always feel. He only wished Hydra had erased _those _memories and not the memories of his old life.

"Look, all I'm saying is that I know what it's like to feel doubt because you know you've done and faced pretty bad shit, but it don't mean you let that doubt take you over completely. Give it a shot; if you're really willing to get clean and reconcile, then fight for it. Show 'em that you're ready to change."

_If only Scott were able to hear your words, old man. For me, it's much more complicated than that. A couple of months ago, I was the enemy from your Cold War. What am I now, but a weapon with no handler?_

"It would be best if you didn't tell anyone I was here," he told the old man.

"Yeah, or else I'd be questioned for conspiracy. We don't want that. Say, when you do see your grandma, could you remind her that last I checked, her prescription needs to be filled. She's in the early stages of Alzheimer's, poor gal."

"I'll tell her," said the Soldier, but the old man kept talking, seeming to be stuck in his own memories.

"Keeps saying she knew Captain America back when World War II started. Said he was a childhood friend, babysat her when she was little, and he and her brother were lifelong pals. Quite the story, if there had been more to tell! Say, you ought to feel proud, that your gran-" When he looked up, the figure in the dark was gone. Leaving no trace that he was there. "Huh, either you're losin' it, or that kid's as sneaky as a cobra," muttered the old man. "Now, what was I doin'-oh, yeah, milk. I need milk."

**Just imagine the old man being Stan Lee. Heh, heh!**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Winter Soldier's Mental Crisis**

**Third part of story. ****Same night he broke into an Old Folk's Home. Warning: Contains nudity and suicidal thoughts.**

It was midnight when the Winter Soldier went back to his apartment, or rather, the unoccupied apartment of traveling individuals. He unbelted his weapons and donned all his clothes, until standing naked in the moonlight, his metal arm exposed into the light like a lethal weapon, searching the need to feel like Bucky Barnes without his equipment, while looking out the window that showed the view of the memorial sites and the reflection of his cold, tired, vacant expression.

Flashes of a small girl with brown curls entered his mind, wearing a yellow dress and ribbons.* _She was seven, dancing around his feet and giggling while holding red/blue/white pompom. "Catch me if you can, Bucky Jim! Bet you're a pussy." He was seventeen, who had been chasing after her with Steve, who was sixteen and hanging out with them, until catching her and holding the little girl upside down in his strong arms. _

_"__Come on, Steve, let's show this little maniac who's the real pussy," Bucky called to Steve._

_"__Careful she doesn't throw up, Buck, I've been there," Steve pointed out, but then snatched her pompom. "Go Yanks!"_

_"__Oh, no, give it back!" squealed Becca, who was squirming in Bucky's arms, her underwear showing under her dress. _

_"__Not unless you yield," Bucky told her, tickling her until she squealed louder. "Yield!"_

_"__Never! Barnes' don't yield!" she shouted, high-pitched, but with pride in her child's voice, despite her head turning red from hanging upside down. _

_"__Hear that, Bucky? Your kid sister's a rebel!" Steve smiled. "I'm starting to feel bad, are you?"*_

_"__Nope, been there, done that." Then Bucky turned her back upwards, but held on to her. _"Although_, have to admit I admire the way she can handle torture. The Germans wouldn't stand a chance, huh Steve?"_

_Steve laughed, and Becca said with her arms wrapped around her big brother's neck, "Can I have pompom back?"_

_Steve made a move, but stopped when Bucky shook his head and said, "'Can I have my pompom back...?'" He raised his eyebrows as he waited._

_"__Please," finished Becca._

_Bucky smiled and put her down. "Atta girl, Becky!"_

_"__Here you go." Steve gave her back the pompom. "You earned it."_

_"__What do you say, sis?" Bucky nudged her from behind.*_

_Becca smiled and shook her pompom. "Thank you, Steve."*_

Steve was always there for him, just like he had always been there for Steve, even around his wild little sister, Rebecca. As his memories started resurfacing, the Winter Soldier let the pain overwhelm him like fire over ice, but kept looking out the window for what seemed like all night.* Half the time, he expected Pierce and the scientists to come back, realize he was growing even the slightest conscience, and then they would recharge him in the chair to wipe it all out. Somehow, even though Pierce was dead, he could still feel the voltage burning from the outside to the inside of his head. Instead of them going, they kept coming, but this time it was tsunami of all the horrors he had done: _shooting, gun powder, fire, blood, bodies, bodies, BODIES_...Gritting his teeth, he found himself crouching to the floor with his eyes shut, hands gripping his head as if trying to squeeze all the horrors out_, _but_ nothing _can diminish it all.*

_Your work is a gift to mankind..._

_Catch me if you can, Bucky Jim!_

_You shaped the century..._

_Barnes' never yield..._

_The procedure has already started...Sergeant Barnes..._

_Bucky!_

_Bucky?_

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

_You will be a weapon against the Americans...my twisted joke against them..._

_You're my friend..._

_You're my mission..._

_Then finish it...cause I'm with you till the end of the line..._

_I'm with you till the end of the line, pal.*_

_"__NO!" _His metal arm had knocked over the whole coffee table as he lashed out at nothing. Sweating and blind with the red in his vision, he lunged across the room, fumbled with the weapons on his bed, snatched up the gun and forced the muzzle against his head. The weapon pressed deep into his temple, finger on the trigger, his heart pounding until threatening to burst, he had his eyes closed as he forced himself to take deep breaths.

_Do it, _his own voice echoed in his head. _It will only get worse. This is only the beginning. This is what you get for finding your humanity, when not even that could handle the monster you've become._

_I tried to kill Steve, like so many others, after what I've promised him when we were friends. I've let him down.* __I've let him down! _

_That's right. _Zola's voice. _You always protected him, even until the very end that had lead to your demise._ _Lead you to my laboratory. That protectiveness was reprogrammed to kill.*__ You even killed Howard Stark, another friend. Imagine his son out there, thinking his death an accident, until he finds out that _you _were responsible._

_Get the hell out of my head!_

_This is all you. _Pierce's voice. _It's all in your head, but it is all too real. You were capable of your talents all along; we just wiped away the morals. No weapon needs morals. People are meant to die, for the good of others._

_"__Shut up, shut up," _the Winter Soldier-Bucky-whimpered, his eyes now swimming with pain, from rage and despair. He knelt at the bed, his metal arm crushing the covers, and the gun still positioned at his head. What was wrong with him? This wasn't the first time he felt like he was falling apart, wanting to die, but this was the first time he was acting on it. The gun was loaded. But why not pull the trigger? Why not save billions of lives, like Pierce said, but this time from himself?

_Because it won't bring the dead back. _Steve's voice, which was more comforting. Even his face was pictured of him telling Bucky. _Besides, it wasn't you. You didn't pull the trigger. Pierce did. Hydra did. They're the monsters, not you._

_It doesn't make it any less my fault, Steve, _he thought._ I let you down. I once made a vow to be by your side, and all I ended up doing was put you in a hospital. I should have remembered you the moment I saw you on the roof of that building. I failed you. I'm sorry, Steve. If I end myself now, I can save you the trouble of having to kill me. I owe you that much._

_No, you owe me by staying alive. I want my best friend back, Buck._

The gun still on his temple, Bucky stared ahead while watching the moonlight, the storm in his head fading slightly. Slightly. _I want my best friend back, too, Steve.* _

His gaze dropped and on the bed, through his blurry haze, he found the navy-blue hair tie lying there alone. Gently, with his metal arm, he picked up the hair tie and held it delicately at eye level.

_Maisie. _His gun slowly lowered, he let out a shuddering breath. Her innocent, hopeful face appeared in his mind, glowing through the darkness and calming all the noises in his head.

_I believe in you, _her little voice whispered.

While putting two metal fingers through the loop of the tie, Bucky pressed it to his lips and shut his eyes, but tears were already streaming down his face. He was like that for a long time, before finally whispering, "I'm sorry, Maisie. I'm so sorry." These were one of the times when he has forgotten that he had reasons to live-they were few, but they were there. For Steve, for Maisie, for Rebecca...the memories will keep coming back and they will hit hard. He will probably end up with wanting to commit suicide again, but for these three of the most important people in his life, he will continue fighting for his survival. _I'm coming, Rebecca.*_

**Last part is up next. I always love saving the best for last. Hang in there, Bucky!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Now back to the Winter Soldier, the one from the movie. It's been two days since the Winter Soldier had broken into the Old Folks Home and also had his near suicide attempt. This is when he finds the address of where his family lives, finally reuniting with his sister**.****

**Brother and Sister Out of Time**

The Winter Soldier followed the street address, taking a bus leading outside of Washington D.C. to Virginia and finally arrived in a more neighborhood-like place. He kept his disguise and carried his equipment in a large duffle bag. Cap on, head down, he finally stepped off the bus and started walking. He found a nearby motel and rented a room with a stolen credit card.

The next night, he went to the house. He was dressed in his black outfit, also wearing his black jacket to hide his metal arm, to stay hidden in the dark, but only carried a gun and knife for precaution. He had to watch the house until it was dark. From the distance, he had seen a car pull out of the garage, which he saw was driven by Maisie's mother (who was dressed up, for a date, perhaps). After a while, at half past nine, the lights inside turned off.

Sneaking into the house, he jumped like an acrobat across the walls and reached the second story window of the house. The window was dark. Very gently, careful not to make any noise, the Soldier opened the window wide enough for him to slip through, feet first, and landed noiselessly into a bedroom.

A child's bedroom. The corners had stuffed animals, dolls, scattered papers full of coloring pictures and school work, and a rocking chair. A kit full of colorful rubber bands lay scattered on the carpet. Those rainbow bands reminded him of someone...

He heard soft breathing, and slowly turned to his left. A little girl was there in her bed, sleeping quietly, unconsciously snuggling to her pillows while her blanket was pulled back, revealing her pink pajamas, and her teddy bear at the foot of her bed. She must have dropped it while sleeping. Her hair was loose of their braids, but her arm still had her rainbow set of bands.

_Maisie. _The Winter Soldier felt this old, familiar feeling come back when the last time it felt alien: warmth. He quietly sat on the window sill as he watched her sleep, almost wishing she would wake up with that bright, glowing smile of hers. She looked so small, so peaceful...He very quietly leaned over and used his good hand to pull the covers back over her, and used his metal hand to pick up the bear, which was soft and plushy against his sensors, and placed it next to her head. His gloved metal hand was so close to her face that he can almost touch it-he wanted to, remembering how her little hands felt against his metal arm; how delicate, warm, and gentle they were-but he held himself back. He couldn't wake her up. She could never know he was here...at least, that was the plan. Seeing her sleeping face made him wonder about how she can look so peaceful.

Because she was good. Because she was loved. Not just by her family...but by also himself, he realized. It made her the most beautiful child he had ever seen. If _anything_ happened to her...No, nothing bad will happen to her, he would make sure of it. He would protect her as long as he stayed out of her life, stayed out of contact. After he saw his sister, Rebecca. One glimpse, that was all he needed.

After one last look at Maisie, metal hand gripping the bear briefly, he stood up and crept out of the room, opening her door and into the hallway before closing it. There was the sound of a TV on in the living room downstairs and the sound of a girl's voice speaking. Just peeking out from behind the wall over the bannister, he saw a young woman seated there on a sofa, watching TV and was talking on the phone with most likely a friend. She looked to be in her late teens or early twenties, wearing PJ shorts and a T-shirt, her long brown hair loose with blond highlights, eyes blue, and from her long, athletic legs down to her ankle was a butterfly tattoo. He remembered Maisie's mother in the museum mentioning an "Aunt Kimberly" to Maisie. _Kimberly, Rebecca's granddaughter. My grandniece. _So Maisie's aunt was here, but not her father, most likely Kim's older brother, Scott.

While Kim looked distracted, the Winter Soldier kept walking down the hallway until he found another door creaked open slightly with light coming through. His pulse increased as he neared the door and peered through it...and felt an intake of his breath. A small lamp was on, but on the bed sleeping was an old woman, who must have drifted off in the middle of reading an album full of photos. Certain she was out, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. She looked to be in her eighties, her hair white with a tinge of gray to indicate that she once had dark hair, her skin wrinkled with age, but...as she slept peacefully, there were hints of beauty there that had been obvious when she had been young.* Her cheekbones, her jaw, the shape of her forehead beneath the curls of her fading hair...they were so similar to his own features that he knew instantly, like long-lost memories that had suddenly resurfaced the moment he saw her face. He remembered the little girl who had been his little sister...then when their parents had passed away, shortly after Steve's mother had..._Becca was fourteen, wearing a white dress and carrying her suitcase, and was sitting next to her older brother, Bucky, in a taxi cab. She was looking out the window, upset, while Bucky couldn't stand her silence, especially when she had once been so energetic, fun, and talkative...until their parents had both been recently killed at a trip in Hawaii, at Pearl Harbor, when the Japanese attacked. They had been in a base training camp-their father a soldier and their mother a nurse. Bucky had been in an art class with Steve when they heard that America was at war. And not long after, when he and Steve were training and talking about joining the army, he and Becca had received the news. It had been a blow for both of them, but through his grief, almost immediately after the funeral, Bucky and Steve had enlisted in the Army (Steve failed, but Bucky passed). Becca was being sent to live with their aunt in Indiana to attend a Girl's Academy._

_ "I heard the school's great," he tried, "even if its just for girls. And you'll be with Aunt Ida-"_

_"How can you say that?" Becca whispered. She still wouldn't look at him. "Don't even try to pretend that everything is going to be alright, Jim! Just don't!"_

_"Then talk to me!" exclaimed Bucky in frustration."Rebecca, I know that nothing's going to be same, since Ma and Pops...but you can't shut me out like this. Not now. I'm your brother."_

_"Exactly!" She finally faced him. There was angry tears in her eyes. "It's not just about Mama and Poppa, or about this stupid school you and Aunt Ida are forcing me in!" Bucky winced, but she continued, her voice breaking, "You're my brother, my family! You're old enough to be my legal guardian. I could have stayed here in Brooklyn with you...but you had to get yourself enlisted! All _you_ want to do is go to war! The war that killed our parents!" Tears ran down her face, her lip trembling. "They left us...and now you are leaving me, too!" _

_"Becca! I..." he stammered, loss for words, but she turned away again._

_As the cab stopped at the train station, and as they unloaded the cases, Bucky could feel his little sister's pain, his own guilt, and the desperation to find her comfort. Steve, who was also part of their family, had already been there with them at the funeral and had said good-bye to Rebecca before they left. Steve had made it his mission to keep trying to get enlisted until he was accepted, though Bucky had doubts about his best friend's physical condition and, being always overprotective, secretly hoped he had a better chance of staying out of the war. Steve was like his little brother and, like always, Bucky didn't want anything bad happening to him. Bucky was just getting started, though he had to make sure his sister was safely transported before he moved to camp. Like Steve had felt about his own parents, Bucky had felt that it had been the best way to honor his mother and father's deaths, follow in his father's footsteps, and bury his grief while serving his duties as a soldier. __His biggest regret was that he hadn't considered what his decision would do to Rebecca, his baby sister, whom he loved more than anything in this world. But there was no going back now. Not until this war was over._

_As they waited for the train, Bucky took his sister's arm. "Can you look at me, sis?" he said softly._

_"Why?" she said, turning around, though her eyes still looked anywhere but at him. _

_Bucky was silent for a moment, swallowed hard, and then said hoarsely, "Becky...I don't know what else to do. I'm so sorry that I'm putting you in this position. I know it-it was selfish of me for not coming to you before joining...and then sending you away...but you know I can't take care of you. I can't give you the things you need. This is the best way I know how to do it, and...and you can hate me all you want, but..." He took both her arms and leaned down to catch her eyes. "You're my little sister. Both you and Steve are the only family I have left, not counting Aunt Ida, and I would do anything to make sure you are taken care of, for you to be happy again. But I need to do this. Not just because all the men are getting drafted, but because...I just need this."_

_Becca finally looked up at him, her eyes shining. "I wish I could come with you," she whispered._

_Bucky smiled sadly. "No, you don't."_

_"Do you remember when we were younger," she said, looking distant, "when you, me, and Steve used to play Nazi tag all the time? You would catch me, hold me upside down until I yielded...but I never would. I wish things were just like that again."_

_"Me, too." Bucky nodded. "'Barnes never yield.' Remember?"_

_"Yes, always." Then Becca smiled. "Why can't I ever stay mad at you, Bucky Jim?"_

_He shrugged, smirking. "It always the other way around for me with you, sis."_

_Then the sound of the train whistled and arrived. Everyone started getting on and loading the luggage. Becca looked scared. "I don't know if I can do this," she said, trembling. "I have no idea how...what if those girls..."_

_Bucky took her by the shoulders. "You're going to be fine," he assured her. "You are beautiful, smart, and funny. Those girls are going to love you, and frankly, I'm bit jealous." She hit him playfully, and he grinned. "See? All you needed was a little push."_

_Then she looked away, looking sad again, but he took her face in his hands and whispered, "Everything is going to okay, Beck. Alright? I promise. I'll write to you every week. I'll even make Steve put a word in."_

_"But what if you don't...Jimmy, I'm afraid that you won't come back," she croaked. "You can't make promises in war. I don't know what I'd do-" __She broke off as Bucky pulled her into a fierce hug. He felt her arms wrap around his neck, and remembered how she always did that when she was a little girl, when he carried her around when she was happy, sad, or tired. He felt his heart breaking. He was going to miss her hugs. She was still a little girl to him now. She would always be his little sister. _

_"I love you," he croaked, voice cracking, feeling his eyes mist up as he hugged her. "So much. You'll remember that, won't you?"_

_Her arms tightened around him. "I love you, too," she wept softly. "Just come back safely...and take it easy on the gals. Leave some for Steve." _

_Bucky laughed, as they pulled from the hug, and he told her, "As long as you promise me to look out for yourself. Remember what I taught you about throwing a proper punch."_

_"Girls don't fight, Jimmy," she said, wiping her tears. "You know Mama and Poppa had always hated it when you fought. Worse when they caught us practicing..."_

_"I know, but...you might see some guys, and...I don't want them laying their hands on you. I won't be around to teach them a lesson." She scoffed, but he looked serious. "I mean it, sis! It's not funny. I want you safe. You have to promise me you'll protect yourself. It would really help me sleep better. Promise me."_

_"Alright, I promise." Becca smiled. "Goodness, won't Aunt Ida be surprised? You don't have to worry about me, Bucky Jim. Worry about yourself. And Steve. Take care of each other, will you?"_

_"We always do." Bucky then helped carry her luggage to the train man. Before she stepped aboard and went away, they hugged again and he kissed the top of her head, and pinched her chin affectionately, saying to her, "I'll see you soon, okay? Make me proud."_

_Becca smiled sadly. "Barnes never yield," she said. "Never yield, brother."_

And Bucky Barnes had watched his kid sister leave on the train, waving good-bye to him in tears from the window, off to the Girl's Academy in Indiana, while he was off to war with Steve Rogers. That had been the last time he had ever seen her...up until now. No longer the pretty young girl, barely entering womanhood, whom he practically raised, played with, and cried with, but an old woman who had moved on, got married, started a family, and had lived a long life. Back in 1945, when the war was finally over, her brother never came home. _Both_ of her brothers never came home.

_Becky. _Bucky-the Winter Soldier-sat on the chair next to the bed, looking at her at she slept while he picked up the open album she had been looking at before she drifted off. He started flipping through the pages, and found pictures of members of her family, her handwriting written beneath each photo. It was a scrapbook, which had old movie tickets, ribbons, and news ads taped in the corners from the past. Here were multiple black and white pictures of Becca when she was a little girl, one photo of the entire Barnes' family (himself as a kid in his preteens, his mother, father, and Becca as a toddler) on the docks of Coney Island, one picture of him and Steve as kids both smiling goofily, and Becca in her late teens and graduation gown, posing with other girls her age from the Girls Academy, smiling, including one with the clean-dressed Aunt Ida.

Then there were pictures of her and her husband, John Proctor (who looked about her age, friendly enough), getting married not long after she graduated, and around twenty pictures of their married life together, including having two little boys during the late fifties (who were both dead, he remembered the old man from the home care saying) named John, Jr., and James (_After me,_ he guessed). Then the pictures started gaining color, as the two boys grew into men. John, Jr., got married to a woman named Marie, while James became a pilot in the U.S. Navy Force.

Then there were child pictures, John and Marie becoming the parents of Scott and Kimberly Proctor. As Scott became a teenager and Kim a young girl, the Winter Soldier could now see a little bit why the old man thought he was Scott. Though the kid was blond (like his daughter, Maisie) and had shorter hair, he had the same jaw and same blue eyes as his own. And it looked like he was around the same height. He looked happy as well (making it hard to believe he ever touched a drug), standing next to his father and sister (he wondered what happened to the mother). There was also a picture of Scott and Maisie's mother, whose name was Rachel, getting married, both looking very young, but happy. There were no more pictures of John Proctor, Sr., but there was a picture of an elderly Becca sitting down next to a tired-looking Rachel, laughing while cradling a tiny baby who looked only days old. It was Maisie. More of Maisie grew as a toddler, some of them with her grandparents and one with her father, who was sleeping on a couch with her sprawled across him, but then there were no more pictures of John, James, or Marie. Nor were there of Scott. There was more of Maisie, though, growing until reaching kindergarden, wearing her rainbow hair ties, standing near a college with her Aunt Kimberly, blowing out candles on her sixth birthday, and even had a school picture with that glowing smile he loved. The last was of her posing next to the Captain America exhibit.

That was the end. By the time he had finished, he felt a lump in his throat. This scrapbook was his whole family, the family he never knew he had. While he had been assassinating and hibernating in the cold chambers of Hydra for decades, his family had been thriving, the evidence clear in this scrapbook. Even when he had "died," the Soldier couldn't believe how well his sister had outdone herself. The last name Barnes would die with him now.

"Who are you?" The soft, croaky voice was enough to shock him as his head snapped up, and saw that Rebecca was looking right at him with wide eyes. "What are you doing with that? Are you robbing me?" She sat up, but the effort made her lie back down. "Young man...if you even try to take anything, I'll-I'll scream."

_Becca, no! _His eyes darted to the lamp, then to the window behind him...if he could turn off the lamp, open the window and slip out-he could probably get out before she would scream...but what was stopping him? Why was he hesitating? He started to stand up.

Becca managed to prop herself up and held up a trembling hand before her frightened face. "Don't come near me," she whimpered, and he stopped. God, he _ached, _seeing her be so afraid of him. She clearly didn't recognize him yet. Slowly, he placed the scrap book on her bed and then knelt to the floor, at the bed's edge, so that he didn't seem threatening.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly, hearing the pleading in his voice. He never realized how terrifying this would be. "Becky...d-don't, please...p-please, don't be scared. I would never hurt you. Please..."

She looked confused. "How did you-" she began, but then she paused and squinted, studying his face for a moment...and then she blinked and her face drained white, like she saw a ghost. For a frightening moment, the Winter Soldier thought she was going to have a stroke, but she placed her hand over her mouth and her eyes filled with tears as they recognized whom she was seeing. "Jimmy?" she breathed, her voice barely audible.

The Winter Soldier didn't know what to do, or how to react. He didn't know whether this was a mistake, or that this was what he needed...maybe both...but his eyes misted up with emotion as he watched her stare back at him. Beneath all that aging, she looked like the young girl he remembered parting forever at the train station in New York all those years ago.

Then she smiled, tears running down her cheeks. "Oh...oh, Jimmy," she wept happily, and reached out to him. He let her touch his face, her hand cool, frail and withered against his cheek, but very familiar. "You're here. They told me you were killed...that you-I must be dreaming. Oh, Jimmy..."

He touched her hand and closed his eyes. Very human emotions resurfaced as his sister spoke, but aware how her voice was raising, he stood up and gently pressed her back on the pillows. "I'm here," he said softly, "but you have to keep your voice down, sis. Everyone is asleep. We don't want to wake them."

"You look so different," his sister whispered. Her hand touched his long hair strands. "Honestly, Jimmy, it was a wonder I couldn't see your face firsthand. That dreadful war must have really put an effect on you."

_You have no idea. _He wondered if Rebecca had heard about the Hydra attacks in Washington D.C., like Maisie and her mother had. The last thing he wanted for this reunion was for her to realize the cold-blooded killer he had become. It would break her heart. _Worse than dying, _he thought, his chest tightening with remorse. Steve may have faced it, Maisie may have accepted it, but he didn't want to take away Becca's good memories of her big brother, Bucky Barnes. It would be too much for her to bear...and he would never forgive himself to have given her so much pain.

"I missed you so much," Rebecca whispered.

He took her hand, small, aged, and frail in his, and kissed it. "I missed you, too," the Soldier said. He meant it. He remembered her now, and he _still_ missed her. "You have no idea how much it means to me to find you again."

"When I am old and losing my wits," she sighed.

"You still look beautiful, Becky."

She smiled sadly. "Always a gentleman, like Poppa. Like John. Oh, have you met my husband yet? I know you were always overprotective of me when it came to boys, but you will love him! I should introduce the two of you when he comes home. My little boys, too. I named my youngest after you: James. It suited him."

He remembered that she was entering Alzheimer's. She must be thinking at this moment her husband and sons were still alive. "I looked in your scrap book. James was a Navy pilot. You must have been proud."

That made her pause, looking into a distance...and then she grew sad. "Oh...yes. He-he died, didn't he? A plane crash." She became teary again. "And John...both of my Johns are gone, as well. My entire family...gone..." A sob choked her, and the Soldier instantly took her fragile hands, gentle as he could with his robotic hand under his glove.

"Shh, Becky, don't..." he whispered and instinctively touched her face, which was soft and shaky. He wiped away her tears...like he always did when she was a child, he remembered. "It's okay. I'm right here. You still have your grandchildren. Your great-granddaughter. You're not alone."

Becca sniffled. "Kimmie...Scottie...has Scottie come home yet?"

The Soldier hesitated. Becca only shook her head. "Never mind. After he lost his father, he...he was never the same. He and Rachel, my granddaughter-in-law, grew...distant. He grew troubled; started taking pills and God knows what else. I worried about him. I still do. Then one day, he took off and never came back. Never even called, not once. Left his child behind. Shameful." She sighed. "I still pray that he will come to his senses and come home. Rachel doesn't think so. He's not perfect, but he's still Maisie's father...and my grandson."

The Soldier didn't say anything. He felt as if he were trapped in his own shame. He did not even deserve to look her in the eye like a good human being and pretend that he didn't murder thousands of innocents from the past seventy years as a cold, emotionless killer machine, for the same enemy he had gone off to war to fight.

The storm of bloodshed in his head began to rise again. He closed his eyes, which burned overwhelmingly, as it had the night he attempted to shoot himself, to make the storm go away, the voices...but he held on to his sister's hand, reminding himself where he was, and took deep breaths.

"What is it, Jimmy?"

He then looked at his sister, and was struck with how much time had passed. She had outgrown him. A human being is dying at each passing minute of every day for over a century. Memories of her being a little girl became clear, awoken from erased memories, from seeking connection of his former life. Rebecca was an innocent, always had been, who deserved more than he ever did. He had practically raised her. He had done everything he could to protect her from the horrible realities of the world. He had even taught her to fight for herself, despite their father's disapproval. He taught her to punch so that it would make him sleep easier at night, before she went away. He protected her from boys, authority, and fear itself. He had wanted to make sure she outlived him, had a good life.

Now here he was, alive and still in his twenties, face to face with his baby sister who was now old, weak, and sick. Watching her waste away, most likely to die before him. He would lose her again. It all felt like a joke. A big, twisted joke. He had just remembered her, found her, and now she didn't even have many more years to live. _He_ had to be the one to outlive her. It was unfair. Part of his living hell.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. His eyes blurred as he forced himself to look at her, his voice wavering. "I'm so sorry, Becky."

"Jimmy? For what? I don't understand."

"For everything." He trembled and looked down, gripping his sister's hand closer to him. "I'm sorry that I came back too late. I'm sorry that I abandoned you when you needed me the most. And I'm so sorry that I am the cause of so much suffering...when I'm the one who should suffer."

"Jimmy!"

Tears blurred his eyes. "I should have died," he choked. "I should have died when I fell from that train! So many people would have-I deserved this. I deserve to suffer for what I've done. I should have stayed with you. Protected you. Watched you grow up. I should have _remembered _you."

"Remembered me? Jimmy, what are you talking about?"

"I'm not the same person who was your brother, Becky, whom you parted at the train station." He looked at her with such sorrow, and said softly, "I yielded, Becky. I yielded into the hands of my enemies. I yielded, and let everything I had once fought for slip away. I was weak." His vision swam; an ocean of pain and guilt. Tears escaped. "I...I killed people. So many people, Becky!"

Becca blinked and didn't say anything for a minute. "You-you were in the war," she said finally. "You had to fight. It was never the other way around once you've joined. I knew it. _You _knew it."

"You don't understand." The burdens were so great that he had to draw back from her. "I...I didn't just kill Nazis..." _I served the enemy. I murdered innocent men, women, and maybe even children. I helped start the Cold War. I had tried to murder my best friend, Steve Rogers. And I'm _almost _certain that if Hydra had ordered it, if they had even knew about my background, I would have been capable of killing you without question._

She then took his hand and shook her head. "Please don't talk about it."

"Rebecca, I need you to know what I am!" he said, despairingly. "I need to tell you-"

"No! I don't want to know what things you were forced to do, innocent or no. War can force people to do terrible things. It changes them. I never knew what it truly did to the fighters, but I have met many survivors with stories of their own. It broke my heart each time I heard them, but I beg of you, Jimmy, do not let the horrors you've faced take away your will to live. I do not know how you are here, how you are still young...perhaps I am merely speaking to your ghost from my own delusional mind...but I am overjoyed by this miracle of having to see you again. You have done an extraordinary job taking care of me, and I have always loved you for that. You have done everything you could, and I have missed you more than you know...but I have lived a good, long life. I only mourned the fact that my big brother had died young, fighting for what he believed in, protecting his country. Protecting me. But I was especially proud to see that he made history, fighting alongside the lifelong friend who would become our nation's hero, Captain America. Steve, of all people, who is miraculously alive, God bless him. I see him in the media, when I could follow along, but I would have to leave it to fate for him to find me. He was like another big brother to me once, though it mostly worked with the two of you.

"My great-granddaughter worships him. Him and the Avengers. Steve has inspired quite a bunch since we all thought he passed away. Maisie is the brightest little angel you'd have ever met. Scott and Rachel couldn't have done better. If you'd have met her...oh Jimmy, she would have stolen your heart in an instant."

"I know," whispered the Winter Soldier in agreement. He remembered how he met her in the museum, or rather _she_ met him, and she was instantly taken by him, before he would even have time to process what horrors he had done. "I...I've seen her. She's wonderful...just like you."

Becca looked tired. "There is always hope," she murmured, "for each and every one of us. We are blessed with a life full of marvels that surprise us in even the darkest of times. I have witnessed them myself. And I have known you to be full of surprises. To me, you are invincible." She touched his face, her thumb wiping another tear away. "My big brother, willing to overcome anything, through tragedy and through failure. He always taught me that. And he still can..." She looked barely awake.

The Soldier swallowed hard, the storm in his mind dying slightly, but he watched sadly as his elderly sister drifted off, feeling more loving and protective than he had ever been for a very long time. It was so strange to the Winter Soldier that the feeling became fiercely natural. The ice in his heart had started to melt when he met Maisie Proctor...and then continued to melt for his gentle long-lost sister who lay before him, not knowing what he had become, that he had a prosthetic metal arm that had served as his weapon for destruction, and how easily a threat he could be, because she believed in him. It broke his heart.

"Becca..." he whispered softly, but the old woman was already asleep, looking peaceful and slightly younger, revealing the features of his little sister, Rebecca Barnes from decades before. He watched her for a moment, and then whispered, "I can't stay, Becca. I only wanted to see you again, just this once. I can't risk anyone knowing about the Winter Soldier's family. I can't...because if anything happened to you..." He swallowed. "I just wanted you to know how proud I am of you, sis...so damn _proud_, of how strong, wise, and independent you've become. You have never yielded. You have found everything, making you the woman our parents always wanted you to be. I know they would be proud of you." He took a deep breath to steady his voice, but then he croaked, "You have no idea how lost I was, how hard I try to find my way back, even when there is no going back...

"Even when I'm far away, even if you don't know it, I will always look out for you. I will do _everything_ in my power to protect you and this family...even from me." He shut his eyes to keep himself in check and then looked up again, gently placing her hand down on the bed before silently standing up, leaning over her. "I am so sorry, Becky. So sorry for leaving you. For everything that I am now. But I promise you now that I will make things right, and that no matter what happens, you will always be my baby sister."

He pulled the covers over her, turned off the lamp, the room dark and moon shining behind him, making him look like a dark shadow in the room. He then kissed the top of her head, like he did when she was a little kid sleeping, when he had been looking after her as her big brother. She smelled of lavender...and of Becca. There was a possibility that he would never see her again, dead or alive; the thought seized his heart like his robotic hand. "I love you, Becky," he said softly. "Always and forever."

He then opened her window, but before he slipped out, he looked back at his sister one more time. She was fast asleep, like not having a care in the world, like she did when she was a little girl. Weak and vulnerable as she was, this woman was the head of a whole family, who would also be willing to take care of her. She was safe. She was loved, while being full of it herself. And when she would wake up the next morning, it was possible that she would not remember that he had visited her in her bedroom, alive, young, and tormented, or else she would believe it was a dream. But it was okay. He just wanted to see her, for possibly one last time, mourn the fact that he had missed so much of the life he could have had with the Proctors, only to be a mindless assassin who was just finding his way back, but he knew that she still believed in him. Still loved him. It was all he needed from her. It was enough. Before he would go...Tears burning his eyes, he finally turned away and leapt out the window. When he stepped into the darkness outside, he saw from the second story building that Maisie was awake, looking out the window, holding her teddy bear. She didn't see him, but was searching below, looking tiny and innocent. Becca was right. Maisie, in his eyes, was pure love, from the moment she spoke to him in the museum and offered him a blue hair tie. Finding her had lead him to find his family. His humanity. It was the most beautiful gift she could have ever given him. _Nobody_ will take that away from him. Never again.

"Thank you, Maisie," Bucky whispered. And then the Winter Soldier left the Proctors to the unknown. One day he will find Steve Rogers. Whether it lead to his death, or redemption, he would make it his mission finish things with Captain America...and with Hydra. Maisie and Rebecca, Steve Rogers, and his vengeance. They were all he had left in the world.

** The End**

**Well, that's it, folks! Until Captain America 3! **


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